I write with the certainty and finality brought about by MY decision to pay the reservation fee of La Salle. I have abandoned my dreams and aspirations of becoming an iskolar ng bayan. There will be no more ifs and buts. Los Banos will no longer be my backdoor entry to Diliman. My dream of actually pursuing Business Administration and participating in my Conrado De Quiros class is burried where it belongs, in the past. Ang iskolar ng bayan ay nilabanan... Nilabanan na ang aking mga pangarap ng aking kurso sa La Salle.

       I write with the peace of mind brought about by actually having a college. Lt. Col. Mother Marfori knocked some sense into me. According to her, my skills lean toward analytic and critical thinking and logic. Marketing (my course in La Salle) will give me just that. It made sense. Why go on a round about route (Los Banos -> Diliman) when I can go to my destination directly? This is not to mention the fact that I am waitlisted, not outrightly accepted in UP. Entering La Salle's College of Business and Economics will be my straight path enroute to the corporate world. Headhunters will agree that the DLSU marketing majors have performed very well.

       To add to that, my sister has already endorsed me to her political party. She included me in a political slate effective student election period, next year. That, ladies and gentlemen, is nepotism at its finest.

      At the same time, I write with thoughts of what may be. I lived the Atenean dream but it came crashing down one day. Remember that my non-acceptance in Ateneo is the sole reason of all the confusion I've encountered the past couple of weeks. Then again, what if I was accepted in the Philosophy program? How different would life be?

     I write with the bitterness I've amassed over the past 3 months.

    Let it go.

    Leave the past where it belongs.

    Now is the perfect opportunity to make lemonade.

     Bakit ngayon ko lang na-isip 'to?

     Sana naman may mangyari this weekend. Sawang sawa na ko sa buhay bahay at batong bato na. Masakit at luwa na ang aking mga mata sa kakakabasa ng mga libro ng subersibong si Dan Brown. Actually, ang dami kong natutunan- mga bagay na walang katuturan. Ano naman ngayon kung kilala ko na ang lider ng Priory of Sion? Makakatulong ba si Senator Sexton (pun inteded ata yung pangalan niya kasi malibog yung kanyang karakter) na baguhin ang sitwasyon ko? Eh si Robert Langdon? Ano yung laban niya sa pamumuti ng mga mata ko? (Kung hindi niyo pa nababasa ang The Da Vinci Code at Deception Point, naku, baduy kayo.)

     Oo nga pala, sabi ni Yaya na may naapakan daw akong dwende nung nagbeach ako kaya magang maga yung daliri ko sa paa. Sana naman lumambot yung puso nang naapakan ko at tanggalin tong pamamaga. Nagmumukhang luya tuloy ang aking paa. Kahiyahiya naman kung lumabas ako na may mala elepanteng paa. Pwede ba, hindi ako nanlalait...

     Anyway, naperahan nanaman ako ng derma ko kahapon nung pinakonsulta ko yung toe ko. Yun lang naman ang pinunta ko sa kanya pero binigyan pa rin niya ko ng sandamakmak na gamot para sa aking sunburn. Alam ko talaga gusto niya kong perahan dahil nang binigyan niya ako ng "nutrient skin gel" ay nagmistulang pinalapot na alcogel lang siya with matching beads. Nagwaldas nanaman si Mama ng pera. Pero ganoon pa man din, sana ako na ang huling niloko niya.

     Pluging lang pero di ako nagpaparinig: Sa mga taong may mabuting kalooban, paki labas na po ako sa Alabang. Maraming salamat.

What is the truth?

It's pretty simple but quite complex.

HE didn't deserve the psychological trauma, the physical torture and the emotional anguish.

Yet, HE CHOSE to take up the cross because of his love for you and me.

Then, we give him shit.

So much for all the trouble.

Sadly, that is the truth.

      Proceed with caution. Laiteras are not for the faint hearted.

      For the lack of a Merriam Webster tagalog version definition, a laitera is someone who loves to criticize anything and everything with little or no reason at all. A laitera can take on the form of a girl- confident or insecure, it doesn't make a difference. They vary in age, body structure and just about everything else. Likewise, a laitera can take on the antimatter of a girl, and be a boy. These boys, I must warn you, are more brutal than their female counterparts. They have no distinct features except their motor mouths and sharper than life eyes. Merciless bitches and relentless assholes are just some synonyms to these people. Welcome to laiteras anonymous. Are you one of us?

      The symptoms are undeniable. A conversation with a laitera can send you spiraling down insecurity la-la-land thanks to a 2 step combat plan. Step 1: Talk. Step 2: Think. Then, realize that what was said was totally tactless. Regret, oftentimes, comes too late but that doesn't really matter especially after they've maligned someone's name, arms, legs, and just about everything else about a person. Bling bling bling! The button rewind does not exist in real life.

      Must I mention that these people are sharp? Unbelievably sharp if you ask me. Neither wrong grammar nor misplaced strands of hair go unnoticed. The worst thing that can happen is the blow up of these petty, sometimes stupid, mishaps beyond proportion. Likewise, an observant eye comes with an almost photographic memory of the wrong dress and even the funny sounding conversation. These people have a what-was-wrong recall time of about 30 seconds, 1 minute tops. You wouldn't believe just how much their think tanks can store. But I think the scariest symptom laiteras carry is their uncanny ability to sway you into believing what they say. Thanks to their animated voices and kwentos, it's really easy to believe what you've heard and not seen. These people must be great with sales.

      Not all laiteras are hopeless cases, however. Mild cases of lait-ism can be cured with a simple parinig. Their consciences catch up with them faster than you can say lait. For more acute cases, drastic measures must be undertaken. The term, drastic, ladies and gentlemen, is relative. Punishment depends on the laitera's victim.

      Any NON-laiteras? Please stand up.

      There are things I understand and many more things I leave to the braniacs. For starters, I can fathom the reason drinkers consider San Miguel and Ginebra their patron saints. I can also understand why some chenelyns (a little gay talk here thanks to Ishy) cannot live without their chenen chenelynemphetamins (a dire attempt to make drugs sound more... classy). In those 2 cases, there is the loss of inhibitions and everything else that stops you from seeing this world as something better. Fine. But one thing I never really understood is the whole nicotine rhapsody. Why?

      I grew up in a pretty jologs environment. I knew Hope, Winston and Philip at a young age. I looked forward to hearing and singing the Winston Christmas jingle about the Spirit of the USA. That and the More cigarettes zap-into-a-good-time ad aside, my inclination to cigarettes never went into the level of addiction. Sure, I've tried smoking but after a couple of sticks, I saw no reason to continue. Call me a penurious patrician but smoking is an expensive habit. So, why smoke? Together with a dwindling and ever-thinning wallet comes nicotine stained tips. Oh, do you really want to freak out yoursevles with smokers' x-rays? So, why smoke?

      In spite of my counterarguments and rebuttals, my hunch is that my lungs aren't in very good shape either. No, this is not the part where I'll recant my statements and declare myself a closet smoker. This is the part where I'm supposed to thank all the second hand smoke I've inhaled since I live with a smoker.. err.. chimney. Adding to the one-two punch is the fact that my room and bathroom smell of smoke. This has enhanced my sense of smell so much so that I can smell nicotine within a 5 meter radiuis without the physical evidence. Here's a tip: If you plan to smoke in your room, spare mankind the CFC annihilation. Masking the nicotine odor with Glade or Lysol only makes your room smell like Payatas. Opt for lighting a match stick instead. It does the job better.

      So, if you're a smoker who's read 3 paragraphs of my why I hate smoking entry, let me tell you that I still love you just the way you are. I respect you all the same and see you as nothing less. But in the same way that I've forever questioned your motives for smoking, let me ask you again, WHY?

Before you board the plane...
The girl behind the counter tells you: Paki timbang nalang po yung bagahe niyo... Timbangin niyo na rin sarili niyo pagkatapos.
She really means: Read on to find out.

Once you enter the plane...
A sign reads: Press the button if you want to call a flight attendant.
It really means: Don't bother the pilot. There are no high class yayas on this flight. Wasn't it the pilot cum flight attendant who demonstrated what to do in case of a crash?

Then...
The pilot speaks: We will be experiencing mild air turbulence.
He really means: Once we hit air pockets, the plane will transform into a magic duyan situated two thousand feet above the ground. Sorry nalang kung mahilo kayo.

Finally, you arrive safely in the Caticlan airport...
The pilot says: Please alight the plane only when we have come to a full stop.
He really means: They weighed you before the flight, remember? In case you didn't know, the passengers were arranged by weight. Follow my instructions if you don't want this plane to fall apart.

After all has been said and done, you leave the airport (which you suspect is no bigger than your room) and see the placard of all placards: Ms. (your misspelled name here) and friends.

Welcome to Boracay!

______________________________
Parting words:
*To everyone hitting The Beach this weekend: Trust me, it's paradise...

    Somewhere between the recesses of my mind and the Basilan islands is a place where one can do anything or nothing at all. Kiss 'em all and smoke 'em all, it wouldn't really matter. Everything goes. Oh, it must be Boracay.

    My 6 day sojourn/buhay baboy retreat is something I'd recommend to anyone dying to get away from the hellhole better known as Manila. My mom finally pronounced me a jock as I fell in love with Frisbee. Mind you, my local/native friends said I was pretty good for someone with such a lazy ass. And when I wasn't busy begging people to play or pigout with me, we were all out partying in Cocomanggas. That place can learn a thing or two about purchasing cds but I love it nonetheless. Jam Jars and shakers transformed to "water" as night fell. Anyone will vouch for the fact that Manggas is the place to see and be seen. Larger than life (pun intended) Maui Taylor was there showing off her goodies to the boys (once again, another pun) at very ungodly hours. Maui aside, it's still a great place to dance and drink especially when everything is free. I guess the good thing about the island is the fact that there is always something waiting to be discovered. The longga burger by Pier 1 is just great. The better part is when it is eaten under a starlit sky with the waves crashing nearby. With the best conversations along with it, you can not go wrong. I was subject to that with someone, and in an Lj-er's term, I turned jelloidal. (Read between the lines here.)

    My Boracay enchantment was heightened even more on the second and third morning of the trip. I woke up to the glorious sight of mass boy who was evicted to a room near mine. Since I'm not much of a talker at daybreak, a measly "Hi! What are you doing here?" was all I could whip up. But the clincher came on our last day when he was having his Lucky Me Chicken chenelyn. We're officially on a hi-hello-how's-your-chicken-mami basis. I still can't forgive myself though for being such a wuss. Half the time I'd see him around, my tongue would just disappear. There was even a time I was supposed to play Frisbee with him. But my laziness just had to set in. I ended up going home.

    I can just go on and on about all the fun we had but for now, I'll open up heart, I'll be loving you forever...

    The court of cheezemacks and cheezenits has decided en banc that the accused, Isa Marfori, is guilty of having a cheesy nerve in her body. After a long period of denial and feigned pandidiri towards cheesy people and other hopeless romantics, she is accused of the following cheeze crimes:

Wanting to slow dance under the Boracay stars with the gentle waves crashing on their feet and the breeze blowing sweet melodies.
The accused did not specify with whom she wanted to dance with but this dream is one of those that will never say die. She awaits this occurence the next time she sets foot in Boracay.

Dreaming of having a candlelight dinner complete with a waiter, wine and a string quartet given that John Doe can afford it.
So much for originality, this has already happened to a showbiz/political couple. Their venue was in the accused's ultimate dream destination: Amanpulo.

Waiting for someone to make her harana with her favorite songs, The Way You Look Tonight by Tony Bennet and Moon River by Frank Sinatra.
Oo na, kinanta to bago pa tayo pinanganak but oldies will forever be goodies.

Wishing that someone would surprise her by making Boracay sand castles bearing her name.
In her desperation, the accused suggested this to a cohort for him to to impress a certain Jane Doe. But he backed off on the last minute due to still unknown reasons.

And finally...
Wondering if any John Doe would ask the accused to be his girlfriend over an airplane's PA system similar to that particular scene in The Wedding Singer.
Again, the accused shared this idea with the same cohort in the previous account but due to flight differences and other technical difficulties, a certain Jane Doe was not asked in this manner.

The accused pleaded guilty on all charges and will be accorded maximum cheeze punishment.

Let's play the what-if game!

What if I had the talent of singing, how different would things be?

What if I lived in Makati and my dream last night actually came true?

What if I had something better to do now than just go online?

What if I learned how to drive?

What if I got my lazy ass moving and learned boxing?

What if I played my cards differently?

What if I had my own camera/lomo?

What if the hula- that I will be a querida when I grow up- comes true?

What if I could go back to Boracay and change the way some things turned out?

What if I had someone now? Hmm...

What if I was in desperate need of answers, would you give them to me?